


Compromising

by captnalbatr0ss



Series: The Captain and his Quartermaster [7]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnalbatr0ss/pseuds/captnalbatr0ss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafe hates cheap motels, but Sam can sleep anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromising

* * *

 They’re on their way back from South America when mechanical issues with the plane force them to land the first place they can. He and Sam end up walking to find somewhere to sleep. Sam spots a run down looking motel, one of the lights in the sign keeps flickering, and Rafe finds it distasteful.

“I know it’s not exactly the Ritz,” Sam says, one arm slung casually around Rafe’s shoulders. “But it’s something. And who knows how far to the next one? Whadya say?”

Rafe is mortified by the place but too tired to fight. And Sam can sleep anywhere. 

In the front office, Rafe lingers by the door while Sam pays for a room for the night. The key Sam is handed looks practically antiquated, and it has a large plastic keychain attached—Rafe hasn’t seen one in years. The name of the motel, the room number on the front, the address and phone number on the back. He can tell by the way Sam examines it that he finds it charming, kitsch. 

When they find their room, go inside, Rafe’s skin crawls. 

“Sam,” he says, and he edges closer to the taller man, his eyes locked on the queen sized bed, the lumpy mattress. “I can’t sleep on that thing. It looks… Infested. And it smells like—" 

"I know, babe.” Sam slips his hands into Rafe’s, squeezing encouragingly. “But it’s just one night, though. C'mon." 

"Saaam…" 

"We got nowhere else to go. It’s the middle of the night. They’ll have this all sorted out tomorrow. You got this, babe." 

Rafe frowns, relents. "Fine. But I’m sleeping in my clothes." 

It’s Sam’s turn to frown. ”…but—" 

Rafe leans up, presses a lingering kiss to Sam’s lips. “It’s just one night. You got this, babe,” he says, echoing Sam’s words. 

They go to bed—Rafe keeps on a tee shirt (he’d’ve picked long sleeves if he’d packed any) and jeans, and socks. Sam strips down to his underwear. 

They both lay on top of the sheets.

Sam pulls Rafe close, as he always does, tangling their legs. Settling in. But after a few minutes of fidgeting, he scoots away. 

“You sure you gotta keep all that on?" 

"Yes." 

A pause, and then Rafe hears Sam moving in the dark. Feels the mattress shift as Sam gets up. A soft thud and a small curse. 

"Sam?" 

"Just ran into the fuckin'—" 

Rafe hears the sound of fingers on cheap, fake leather. 

"—the fuckin’ chair." 

"What’re you doing?" 

Sam is farther away, and Rafe hears the soft and drawn out sound of a zipper pull. 

"Compromising." 

Rafe sits up in bed, raising a brow. "What?" 

But Sam’s busy—busy rummaging through his carry-on, by the sound of things. 

Rafe reluctantly reaches for the nightstand, feels his way to the lamp and pulls the chain, bathing the room in a soft glow. He sees Sam, kneeling over his small suitcase on the other side of the room. He’s got three shirts draped over his shoulder and he’s hunting for a fourth. When he finds it, he returns to the bed. 

"Get up. And take your clothes off, for Chrissake." 

Rafe slides off of the bed. "Sam, what—" 

"Trust me." 

So Rafe does, and he slowly pulls off his shirt, steps out of his jeans. He leaves the socks, because as long as his feet are touching this floor, he intends to keep them on. 

He watches Sam, who is laying out each shirt, smoothing them flat, all four, until there is a row of his shirts covering Rafe’s side of the old mattress. 

"There. Better?" 

Rafe bites his lip, his voice is almost timid. "What if they move?" 

He expects Sam to look irritated, call him spoiled, and he’d be right. But instead, he taps his chin, then snaps his fingers. 

"Be right back." 

"But Sam, you're—" 

Rafe watches as Sam leaves the room, still clad only in his boxers. He can’t help but smile. 

Sam’s only gone for a few minutes, and when he returns he goes straight to the bed, a handful of thumbtacks cradled in his palm. He pins each shirt to the mattress, giving the whole thing a few experimental tugs. 

"There. That should do it." 

Rafe steps closer, his heart is warm. 

"Where did you even find those?" 

Sam shrugs. "Memo board in the front office." 

"Sam—" 

"Ay, most of the flyers were outta date anyway. C'mon. Let’s go to bed." 

They lay down again, both on top of the covers, Rafe on Sam’s shirts. Sam pulls Rafe close, as he always does, tangling their legs. Settling in. He hears Rafe sigh as he slips an arm across Rafe’s bare chest. 

Sam nods approvingly. 

"Much better.”


End file.
